


Kilter

by conceptofzero



Series: Break [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Droog wakes the moment his door opens. It's silent, the hinges well-oiled, but when it moves, it pushes the air around and that's all it takes to snap Droog awake. His hands seize the pistol he always keeps in his bed, aimed at the doorway, and he takes half a second to see who he's about to shoot.</p><p>It's Slick. His grip relaxes at the sight of her silhouette. She shuts the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness again, and Droog just lays there and listens as she creeps across the floor to his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kilter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Break](http://archiveofourown.org/works/264237) (WARNING: NONCON) but it doesn't need to be read to understand this fic. There are non-explicit references to the events of that fic which may be triggery to some.

Droog wakes the moment his door opens. It's silent, the hinges well-oiled, but when it moves, it pushes the air around and that's all it takes to snap Droog awake. His hands seize the pistol he always keeps in his bed, aimed at the doorway, and he takes half a second to see who he's about to shoot.

It's Slick. His grip relaxes at the sight of her silhouette. She shuts the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness again, and Droog just lays there and listens as she creeps across the floor to his bed. Slick's gotten better at sneaking. Then again, she learned the hard way what happens when somebody gets the drop on you.

"Stop pointing your fucking piece at me." Slick hisses as she gets near and Droog obliges. He's not really that surprised that she can tell he's playing possum. Slick knows him better than anyone else. He sets the gun on his beside table. It's dark, but the gentle clink of metal on wood is enough to tell Slick what's going on. The lamp is right there, and his fingers are nearly on it when Slick speaks again, hissing at him. "Don't turn it on."

His hand withdraws. Droog listens as she bumps into the side of his bed and then crawls on it. He frowns. "Slick?"

"Just shut the fuck up." She straddles him, shoving Droog back down onto the mattress. Slick only manages to do this because Droog lets her do it, just like he's been letting her lash out for the past two months. He can't see her in the dark, but he can feel the weight of her pressing down on his hips. She's thinner than she used to be. But that's what happens when you don't eat at much and when you can't sleep at night.

Two months ago, what should have been an average rescue mission had become more. Droog had expected blood when he walked into the Felt's torture room. He hadn't expected to see Slick cowering on the floor, raped half to death. There hadn't been time to think about things, only enough time to get her out of there before the Felt came back.

Slick's been a mess ever since. Droog's been giving her space and watching her slowly try to build herself back up. But she's not eating, and she's not sleeping, and she doesn't like anyone touching her anymore. She was all edges even before they got their hands on her, but now she's like a thousand rusting razor-blades, just as apt to cut you to shreds as she is to cut herself.

Boxcars keeps trying to mother her. Deuce keeps trying to return to the way things were. And Droog? Droog's just been giving her free reign. She's got anger and rage, best she take them out on anyone who isn't the Crew. So if she wants to snap at them at breakfast, Droog lets her. And if she wants to beat someone's skull in, he just lets her do that too. And if she wants to crawl into his bed and keep the lights off?

Well, she can do that too.

Slick is very warm against him, and Droog's already slightly hard. He knows she can feel that, and she knows that he knows, and they both know that Slick just spend the past two months sleeping with with a straight razor in one hand and her cast iron horse hitcher under her pillow. His hands stay on the mattress and he just lays there, waiting for Slick to decide what she wants.

He spends most of his time waiting for her these days. It's almost always the same. She sticks inside the hideout, dressed in the same suit, giving them orders to do this and do that. They go out one or two at a time, or all together, but they never leave her alone. Even at night, she can't stand to be alone, unwilling to go to sleep without somebody swearing they won't leave during the night. On the worst days, Slick even wants someone to stand outside her door and keep watch. But never inside. And never touching her either. They've all got fresh scars from brushing up against her by accident, or laying a hand on her shoulder. It's making it harder to get anything accomplished, and under any other circumstances, Droog would be pushing Slick to get off her ass and get over it already.

But every time those words are on the tip of his tongue, he remembers how she got to her feet with his jacket on, blood and other things running down her legs, and suddenly he finds that extra patience he never knew he was capable of.

Her hips tentatively rub against his, barely moving at all. Droog looks up into the darkness, and he can't distinguish anything. She's easy to find, breathing hard and fast. Slick sounds like she's on the edge of a panic attack. He keeps his hands so still and flat, leaving it all up to her. She's been sleeping in her suit again, and the rough cloth rubs up against his cock.

"You're going to ruin your suit." Droog tells her, and her hands ball up into fists on his chest. He continues, his voice low and quiet in the darkness. "I'll give you something to wear."

"Fuck that." She growls, hands leaving his chest. Slick stays perched on top of him, but in the dark, he hears her start on her clothes. There's a quiet fhump as her jacket hits the floor, followed by her shirt. She doesn't stop to undo the buttons, just yanks it up over her head. Last is her pants, and he feels her rise in the dark, the jangle of a belt coming undone, and the final clatter as they join the rest. When she sinks back down, she's naked, and her hands hold onto his shoulders, squeezing tight. "Keep your mouth shut."

One hand lets go, and wraps around his cock. Droog closes his eyes, even though he doesn't need to, biting back a sound as she strokes him hard and fast. He used to think about this sometimes, how it would feel to have her hands around his cock. Droog stopped those thoughts after he found her lying on the floor. They didn't feel right after that.

She's better than she was in his fantasies. Her fist squeezes right right, her arm pumping him until he's hard in her hands. Slick lets go then, and he feels her scoot closer, trapping his dick between his belly and her cunt. He's not inside of her, just against her, her lips slightly parted around his cock. She's hot and wet, both hands clutching at his shoulders again.

Slick doesn't say a thing as she starts to rub up against him. His fingers slide over the sheets, seeking purchase there, because what really wants it to grab her hips and he knows that won't end well. If she doesn't even want to hear him speak, then she won't want him to touch her. Her fingers scrape against his shell as she rocks down against his cock, grinding her clit against his ridges.

He can't see a thing, but it's easy to imagine her in the dark. Droog knows what she looks like naked, and he pictures her small breasts, her concave stomach, those strong thighs and the pert ass that she does her damnedest to hide. Her cunt is still a mystery to him, only glimpsed at now and then in exile when they bathed in rivers, and on the rare occasion he would come into her room to wake her up, finding her naked and sprawled on the bed. She's rubbing it against him, and he still isn't entirely sure what it looks like, only what it feels like.

Droog's so hard right now. He feels pre-cum dripping onto his belly as she rides him. Her hips are thrusting hard against his cock, and the sensation is pretty phenomenal. Droog's never done this before, and each jerk of her hips sends a little pulse through him. He'd still prefer to be buried inside of her, but for obvious reasons, that won't be happening tonight.

Her breathing is still too-quick and clearly stressed. Neither of them are making a single sound, but he hears the place where sounds should be, the way her breath falls and rises and those nearly invisible grunts as she bites back other noises she'd rather not share. Her thighs flex around him and her fingers are scratching his carapace. Droog doesn't feel the pain, only the pleasurable agony that comes with the slow build.

Slick stops suddenly and without warning, going stock-still. He waits for her, but she doesn't move at all. Her breathing comes in shallow painful gasps and her hands withdraw from his shoulders, presumably to clutch tightly at her body. Droog is still for as long as he can stand when her weight is bearing down on his cock, and then he breaks the silence. "There's a knife in my bedside table."

She doesn't say anything, but she moves almost immediately, leaning forward to paw open his drawer. He lays still on the bed, listening to her hand rummage around, stopping only when it grasps what must be an all-too-familiar piece of metal. The snap of the switchblade opening seems to cut the tension, and he hears her breathing go back to normal levels of panicked. She straightens back up again, and the next thing he feels is her pressing the knife against his throat. The steel is cold and her hand is shaking ever so slightly. He's not expecting it when she speaks, voice tense and tight. "Do you remember when we met on Derse?"

"Of course." Droog remembers. It's not something he could ever forget.

"Tell me," She demands, the flat side of the blade lying against his throat. He can't see her face in the darkness, and he can't tell what she's thinking. Droog could get his hands up, wrestle the knife out of her grip and get her hands behind her back to disarm her. Or he could trust that she won't slit his throat on accident or on purpose. It's an easier decision than it should be.

"I had to deliver a report to you." As soon as he starts speaking, she starts to grind down against him. Between the knife and the heat of her around his cock, Droog's finding it hard to concentrate. He pushes through somehow. "Your reputation was well known. When I first saw you, I didn't believe it. You looked like you were all bark and no bite. I thought the other pawns were idiots for not seeing through you. Of course, I was wrong."

"Showed you, huh?" She gives a single quiet chuckle, and the hand holding the blade stops quivering so much. Slick's thighs keep squeezing around him and Droog finally gives in, letting his fingers rest on her knees and then slide up ever so slowly. She tenses up, and he keeps talking.

"I had no intention of respecting you when I walked into your office and saw you sitting at your desk. But when I watched you deal with that pawn, I knew you were something special." His hands just rest on her thighs, feeling the way they flex as she rubs their bodies together. His cock is throbbing down, and he's so wet from being in contact with her. "You were worth keeping an eye on. I knew you'd do something spectacular, though I never expected to see you try to usurp the monarchy. It was certainly an unexpected path to go down."

"You told me I was a stupid asshole and I was going to get us all killed," She reminds him, and it's Droog's turn to bark out a laugh. The knife on his throat relaxes and then disappears as her hands grip his shoulders again, the handle of the switchblade digging into his shell. This is the most she's said in weeks. Slick's so quiet these days, always keeping her guard up like she can't even trust her own Crew. But here in the dark, she's opening up again, letting him back inside, even if she has to keep a knife in her fist to do so. "But you followed me."

"Of course." His hands slide up to her hips. Droog's careful not to dictate what she's doing, but he does encourage her hips to choose a better pace for the both of them. The way she starts grinding against him makes his voice waiver, but he keeps on speaking. "Only a fool would have turned his back on something so ambitious."

They're both so close. Her breathing is ragged and her movements are sharp and deliberate, chasing after the orgasm that's clearly right in front of her. Droog lets her go and he focuses on the metal against his shoulder, doing his best to stay hard for her. She needs this. He needs it too. Droog needs his Slick back, sharp and wicked as the spade she wears on her jackets. She's what holds them together, what elevated them from bored bureaucrats to the undisputed kings of Midnight City. They need her more than she can ever really understand. He needs her more than he likes to admit.

Whatever she needs to become herself again, he'll be willing to give it to her. She's more important than anything else.

It's enough, and her hips mash down against his. In the darkness, he feels her flex and arch her back, and listens to the noise she makes, full of pain and rage. His own eyes roll back in his head and he gives up on holding back. As she clenches above him, all sound and fury, he comes in a silent shudder, his cock emptying out against his stomach. It's so warm against his belly, and his hands clutch at her body, holding them both steady as they shudder and ride out those constant pulses of pleasure.

She sags forward onto his chest, those sharp elbows digging into him. Droog lets go of her thigh, one hand sliding around her neck and bringing her head forward that last few inches. It takes a moment of fumbling to find her mouth in the dark, but he does, licking his way inside of it. She lets him, mouth parting easily for him.

He can feel the little scars inside her mouth. She's never said what they did, but she's never had to. There are scars behind her teeth where something metal dug deep, and on her lips where they rubbed themselves raw. He touches them with his tongue, and he just kisses her for a moment, until they're both contented.

Slick rolls off of Droog, further into the bed. She lays there, panting softly. Droog seeks out tissues, cleaning off his belly and his cock and thighs, and then doing the same for her. Slick tenses as he touches her, but she never actually tells him to get his hands off of her. He's careful to be clinical. The last thing he wants to do is fuck this up when she's finally doing something other than silently glowering at the world. When she does speak, her voice is low and tense again, but it's still better than hearing nothing. "Give me my pants."

He doesn't. Droog stands and throws out the tissues. He knows his room well, and he pads over to the closet, drawing the doors open. His fingers slide across racks of hung clothes, fingers settling on a lighter pair of pants. He likes these a lot... and yet, he still takes them off the hanger, grabbing a thin cotton undershirt as well. She won't sleep unless she has a full set to wear. Droog isn't entirely sure why. It isn't as if her clothes can protect her. But they make her feel better, and he's not about to fuck with one of the few things that gets results.

"Here." Droog hands them to her. "You don't need to ruin your suit."

She's silent and still for a moment. He sits beside her and listens, waiting to see if she puts them on or if she flips the fuck out. Droog won't be too surprised if she chooses flipping out instead. Slick's got a hair trigger these days, and she's still got that knife in her hands. The last thing he might feel is the blade sinking into his throat.

After a moment of silence, she dresses in the dark. When he slides into the bed again, what he feels isn't bare shell but soft cloth. Slick takes the opportunity to make sure Droog's aware that she's still a pig-headed asshole. "You just want to buy something new, don't you?"

"Of course," He assures her, laying back down in the bed. Droog's not sure if she's staying or going, and it's clear she doesn't either. He picks up his pistol, opening the chamber to check that it's full. Droog's thumb slides across the six shells, and when he's satisfied, he snaps it shut again.

The sound seems to relax Slick, and she makes up her mind. She lays down beside him, tucked between Droog and the wall. Slick says nothing for a long time, but Droog knows she's still awake. He can hear her breathing, and it's still too fast. He waits for her to calm herself back down again. One day, they won't have to do this. She'll be who she was again and she won't need them to be anything but backup.

"Did you ever regret following me?" The question is surprising, but it doesn't completely catch him off guard. After all, that's why she asked him if he remembered when they met. Who knows how long she's been stewing on this.

Droog thinks about it. The desert had been a special kind of hell for him, forced to wear rags for months and years on end, sand constantly in his joints, and the constant unending thirst. He can think of nothing he wants less than to ever set foot out there again. Part of the reason he's so meticulous and careful with his clothes directly has to do with his time out there. And yet... the fact remains that they were nothing but cogs on Derse. They run this city.

"No," He answers her truthfully, facing her, "It was worth it."

"Liar," She says, but it's almost affectionate, or about as affectionate as Slick ever sounds. Slick crawls close to him, and after a moment of hesitation, she settles herself against the side of his body. She falls asleep with her head in the crook of his arm, and the switchblade in her hand resting on his stomach. Only when her breathing becomes steady and smooth does he relax.

Droog wraps an arm around her shoulders and points his gun at the door. He'll do what he can to help her. And when the time comes, they'll strike back at the Felt and kill every single last one of those sons of bitches. He falls asleep dreaming of blood, and of Slick.


End file.
